


The Amazing Spark

by Moriartys_Minion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fic Auction, M/M, Sterek Campaign, prompt by abDraconis1381, superhero!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:42:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moriartys_Minion/pseuds/Moriartys_Minion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So I’m like Harry Potter now? Getting down with my magic-mojo and all that.” Stiles asked wiggling his fingers in front of him as if they could shoot fireworks out of them. He quirked his head to the side. “Does this make you my very own Hagrid?”</p>
<p>“You’re not a wizard.”</p>
<p>“That’s not what a good Hagrid would have said.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Amazing Spark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [abDraconis1381](https://archiveofourown.org/users/abDraconis1381/gifts).



> This is a very much delayed fic for the Sterek Campaign's Fic Auction. It was prompted by the very generous (and ridiculously patient) abDraconis1381 who wanted to see my take on superhero!Stiles with a side of Sterek thrown in.
> 
> He's given my permission to post it so I hope you all enjoy it as much as he did :)

When he thinks back on it there are a lot of dates that Stiles could say his journey as a Superhero began.

 

There was the day his mother was first diagnosed. Or the day she died. That was, after all, the first time Stiles had felt the desperate need to help an innocent person. It was also the first time he’d realized just how helpless he was to save anyone. It certainly made sense in comic book terms what with how all of his favorite superheroes had such tragic origin stories.

 

Another obvious choice was the day Stiles dragged Scott into the woods to find a dead body. It was the night that Stiles discovered the existence of the supernatural. It was the night he ruined Scott’s life. The same night he started on a road to redeem himself of that mistake.

 

In actuality the day Stiles really thinks of as ‘the beginning of it all’ is one of his most selfish ones. To Allison it’s the day her mother was bitten. To Scott it’s the day he was almost murdered by his girlfriend’s mother. To Derek it’s the day that he realized how much he cared about Scott’s well being.

 

But to Stiles it’s the day that Deaton told him he was special. And for all the horror that happened, it’s always going to be the day Stiles knew that he and his ‘Spark’ could do something great.

 

How did the Pack _not_ expect Stiles to combine a lifetime obsession of comic books with his newfound magical talent to become a superhero?

 

So, really, any surprise they had was totally on them.

 

Because it was like the first thing Stiles thought of as soon as Deaton handed him that jar of Mountain Ash.

 

*

 

Stiles waits until they know Scott is going to live before pumping Dr. Deaton for information. Because Stiles is super classy like that and the only thing that rates higher on his priority list than ‘Become A Superhero’ is making sure Scott doesn’t die. If nothing else, Stiles had spent the better part of his life carrying around extra inhalers to keep that whole death thing from happening and he’s not ready to give up on Scott just yet.

 

By the time the vet is _finally_ washing off some rank smelling herb paste in his private bathroom Stiles is practically vibrating with anticipation. In his excitement Stiles accidentally slammed the officer door closed instead of the gentle nudge he’d been aiming for.

 

Deaton’s face didn’t look surprised in the bathroom mirror. “Mr. Stilinski.”

 

“So I’m like Harry Potter now? Getting down with my magic-mojo and all that.” Stiles asked wiggling his fingers in front of him as if they could shoot fireworks out of them. He quirked his head to the side. “Does this make you my very own Hagrid? _”_

“You’re not a wizard.”

 

“That’s not what a good Hagrid would have said.”

 

Deaton gave a minute shrug. “I’ll work on that.”

 

Stiles made a whining noise. He’d be more embarrassed by the childish reaction if he wasn’t 90% sure that Deaton had warded his office from supernatural eavesdropping. “But I totally ran out of mountain ash and then _bam_ I made more appear!”

 

“Yes. I know.”

 

Stiles gaped at him. “You didn’t give me enough on purpose?”

 

Deaton nodded without a trace of remorse. “You had to learn what you were capable of, Mr. Stilinski.”

 

“But what if I hadn’t pulled it off?” Stiles demanded. “As it was it worked and Scott nearly died for god’s sake!”

 

“I had faith in you,” Deaton replied. “Perhaps now you will too.”

 

Stiles snorted his disbelief. “Yeah me and all my belief. We’ll totally take down the bad guys.”

 

“I wouldn’t underestimate the power of your Spark, Mr. Stilinski,” the older man warned. “Life is full of possibilities when one stops placing limitations on themselves and learns to trust their capabilities.”

 

Stiles felt his hope flare. “Like what?”

 

*

 

His first attempt at doing something for the greater good isn’t exactly on the up and up. In fact it falls squarely into the category of self-indulgent revenge. But Stiles figures that if Spiderman got to go after the guy who killed his Uncle than Stiles totally gets to fuck with Harris.

 

Evil is evil.

 

Deaton had taught him that his Spark was like electricity. That the Spark can only be of use when it’s powering something. Otherwise Mountain Ash is just a jar of dead wood. Sage doesn’t increase healing; it just makes chicken taste better. Stiles had been surprised to learn what an iron bat rubbed clean each night with oil and Morning Grace petals could do to a supernatural being.

 

He’d learned other things as well. Like how to take the basics of what Deaton was teaching him and apply them in a more… creative manner. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault that he was a fast learner with an aptitude for invention. Even if they were ideas that ended up with Deaton yelling at him, which – according to Scott at least – was truly impressive since that man hadn’t so much as raised his voice in the five years he’d worked for the man.

 

“What do you mean you flipped his car?”

 

 “It was just a prank. The senior class always does some.” Stiles smiled nervously at his magic mentor. “He wasn’t in the car when I levitated it or anything.”

 

Deaton sucked in a rush of air. “Levitated?”

 

Stiles nodded happily. “It was awesome. I just used that sea grass paste you told me about – ”

 

“ – That was for bone density!”

 

“ – and after some strategic smearing that car was light as a feather.” Stiles grinned triumphantly at him. “Who needs werewolf strength when I have magic green goo?”

 

Deaton stared him down. “I think it’s time we experiment with lilac and white cyprus roots.”

 

Stiles frowned. “Doesn’t that make…”

 

“Rashes?” Deaton asked with an all too pleased expression. “Why, yes, it does.”

 

Stiles gulped.

 

*

 

Freshman year of college brought a whole series of changes to Stiles’ life. Graduating high school had felt like a secondary concern compared to actually _surviving_ it. True to the promise he’d made Deaton, Stiles had kept his proficiency with the Spark a secret. He’d helped out, of course, but he’d done it subtly.

 

Or at least as subtle as Stiles could manage.

 

The decision to go away to college was easier than he’d thought. Derek had sent them on their way with his blessing and, in the case of several pack members, money towards tuition. Truth be told it was a bit of a relief when Stiles and Scott decided not to got to the same college. Scott’s scholarship had sent him further north to Oregon State and Stiles hadn’t wanted to give up his shot at the UCLA Writer’s Program just to room with his best friend. Allison claimed that it hardly mattered since he spent more time on Skype with Scott than she did.

 

Stiles had taken to his newfound freedom like a duck to water. UCLA had such a large student body that it took a special kind of personality like Stiles’ to stick out in a crowd. For once it was Stiles that people were clamoring to get a piece of. Fraternities wanted him to pledge. Clubs wanted him to join and participate. Girls and guys wanted to date – and more, so much glorious _more_ – him than Stiles had thought would ever give him the time of day.

 

Which is, of course, when it all went to shit.

 

Stiles had gone to the bank for the monthly wire transfer his Dad had sent him. The Sheriff still thought that Derek’s contributions to his college expenses were part of some academic scholarship Stiles had earned. With the bulk of the financial burden taken off of the public servant, Stiles’ father had felt the need to send his son some money each month. So long as he kept his grades up being the implied condition.

 

Stiles was only a few customers away from the teller when the men rushed into the bank. There were three of them, each armed with automatic rifles and covered head to toe in black material. One of them knocked out the security guard with a sharp jab to the head with the butt of a gun. Several people screamed as they fired warning shots into the ceilings and ordered everyone to get down on the ground.

 

Being the kid of a cop, Stiles knew the best thing possible was to do whatever the robbers wanted and let the police handle it. But then again he was Stiles and had a terrible sense of self-preservation. Even as he lowered himself to the ground he had slipped his hand into his pocket and hit the speed dial for the LAPD. Stiles had just enough time to set it to silent before the men were ordering everyone to put their hands behind their heads and face down.

 

He froze as he heard a tiny electronic voice greet him and ask what the emergency was. Stiles’ breath quickened as he tried to look around and see if any of the gunmen were close enough to hear it. None of the customers around him gave any sort of reaction so Stiles figured he was safe enough. He just had to hope that the emergency operator heard the commotion and put the pieces together.

 

Everything was going smoothly – you know, if one ignored the fear and tension of being surrounded by armed criminals – until a second security guard tried to take a note out of Die Hard.

 

Stiles saw him first. The man was younger than the ancient security guard that had been knocked out at the main entrance. He was round enough that Stiles wasn’t sure if the man were moving slowly because he was being cautious or it was just that hard for him to do so. Either way Stiles tried to wave him off without alerting the robbers to the man’s location. The security guard ignored him.

 

Stiles, along with a room full of scared witnesses, watched him get gunned down less than a minute later. As soon as the sirens sounded the robbers fled. Stiles rushed over to the fallen man and pressed his hand against the wound. He poured everything he had into keeping that heartbeat – no matter how weak – moving. He willed the man to live. Believed it would happen with all he had.

 

The security guard still died.

 

*

 

“Hey, Scott.”

 

“Christmas.”

 

Stiles paused at the strange greeting. He blinked down at his phone to make sure it really was Scott that had called. “Um… St. Patrick’s Day? Is this a bit? Are we just saying random holidays? Wait! I’m changing mine to Halloween!”

 

Scott made a confused sounding grunt. “What? No, you douche. I’m saying that it’s Christmas next week and you haven’t visited us in forever.”

 

“It has not been forever, Scott.”

 

“8 months, Stiles.”

 

“It has not been that long.”

 

“Yes. It has.” Scott muttered something unintelligible under his breath. “Look, man, I don’t know what’s up. You won’t talk to me. You won’t talk to anyone.”

 

 “I know, okay? I know I’ve not been Mr. Communication lately – ” Stiles paused to listen to Scott rant about how talking was the one thing Stiles was good at besides research and magic. “Well I’m not doing any of those things anymore.”

 

“…what do you mean?” Scott asked tentatively. “Is this why Deaton keeps asking about you?”

 

Stiles frowned at the phone. He hadn’t gone back to Beacon Hills since the incident at the bank. He’d ignored Deaton’s phone calls until they’d finally tapered out a few months previous. Stiles had just assumed that the veterinarian had given up on him or thought he’d gotten bored with the magic.

 

At least that had been his hope since Stiles knew the magic-man wouldn’t approve of how Stiles was going to use those lessons he’d been taught.

 

“I’ve got to go.”

 

“What? Stiles wait.”

 

“I’ll call you this weekend.”

 

The weight of Scott’s answering sigh came through heavy and sad through the speaker. “Just… just think about Christmas, okay?”

 

“Sure,” Stiles lied.

 

He disconnected the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. It landed next to a pile of red leather and a yellow notepad covered with sketches.

 

Christmas could wait.

 

Stiles had other things that were more pressing to deal with.

 

*

 

Stiles had originally thought the hardest part about being a vigilante superhero was going to be the physical aspects. The dude from _Arrow_ didn’t do all those exercises for nothing after all and Stiles was muscled but he wasn’t _muscled_. There was the lying to the loved ones aspect of the whole thing but Stiles had been doing that even before Scott was bitten. It sucked but it wasn’t exactly difficult for him at that point.

 

As it turned out the hardest part was having the courage to actually go out – in public – in a skintight leather/spandex mix that clung in all the most embarrassing places.  That was a task for people who looked like Derek. And Stiles had never been one to show off his body before. He still wore t-shirts in the pool for god’s sake.

 

Stiles wondered if maybe that was the real reason why superheroes stuck to rooftops. Less people there to gawk at or make wise cracks about the outfit.

 

At least the Andrew Garfield look was in now.

 

As he made his way down Hooker Highway (or the back side of Sunshine Boulevard to the tourists) more than one cell phone camera was aimed in his direction. He ignored the jabs and the less than flattering catcalls in favor of the task at hand. The task being the pimp beating the ever loving shit out of one of his girls. Stiles had assumed a pimp would be old, ugly and emitting a general vibe of evil. Stiles was surprised to see that this one was in good shape and had the face of an angel.

 

Too bad Stiles had to bruise it up.

 

The first punch took the man by surprise. The second he saw coming but only had enough time to flinch before the impact. The third one the pimp managed to block before responding with one of his own. Stiles backed off a few feet to avoid the blow and took in his surroundings. He didn’t know if the pimp had any back up muscle in the waiting or if one of the working girls might come to his rescue. He counted two thugs in total headed out of the side alley.

 

A crowd gathered with impressive speed to watch what they assumed would be some amateur costumed idiot get his ass kicked. Stiles tried to take some pride in the few voices that shouted out support for him instead of the three guys advancing on him. Clearly rooting for the underdog hadn’t gone out of style just yet.

 

Mindful of the cameras Stiles made sure to make it a good show. Sure he had to take a few punches in the process but who wanted to cheer for an invincible hero? If only Scott would understand that and stop worshipping Superman and _finally_ realize that the best superhero of them all is clearly the all too vulnerable Batman. Stiles could only hope that Scott would see this on the internet someday and change his ridiculous stance on the Superman versus Batman debate.

 

All the more reason to put on a good show.

 

Stiles’ superpower was basically a knowledgebase in supernatural herbs, a sharp mind, a sharper tongue and a flare for the dramatic born of Saturday Morning Cartoons. So if there were any similarities between Batman’s utility belt and the vials Stiles kept in a waist-high container it was entirely coincidental.

 

Entirely.

 

A.

 

Coincidence.

 

Several people in the crowd laughed when they saw him reach for a vial filled to the brim with bubble gum pink liquid. Their laughter came to an abrupt end when the gathered masses saw what that pink goo could do. As soon as the glass broke, a pink mist rose up and consumed the fighters. Stiles waited until he was sure they’d all inhaled enough of the mist before enticing some wind to blow it away from the bystanders.

 

“What the hell?!”

 

Several more screams followed the exclamation. Stiles bit back a laugh at the mixture of literal shock and awe at what the pink mist had done. He hadn’t wanted to do anything too intimidating on his first outing… just something ‘weird’ enough to get him some Internet attention of the viral variety.

 

Turning peoples skin translucent would certainly do that.

 

Despite what Stiles knew they’d be fearing, the skin on the thugs hadn’t actually been removed. It was just invisible for a few hours. More than enough time to distract the criminals so that Stiles could incapacitate them. Which he did with a few simple moves and a special blend of bamboo and ivy as magical restraints. By the time he was finished all of Stiles’ foes were being held against the wall of the nearest warehouse by the still growing ivy.

 

Stiles offered the nearest cell phone camera a mock salute before disappearing down the next alley.

 

*

 

His first outing did better than a few million hits online.

 

It made the national networks within a week.

 

*

 

Stiles celebrated passing all of his fall semester classes by stopping an armed robbery downtown. No one knew that it had been masterminded by the robbers that had slain the security guard in front of him. No one knew the selfish joy Stiles took in temporarily paralyzing the thieves with hallucinations caused by mandrake root poisoning.

 

No one in the bank thanked him. Instead they stared at him with a mix of horror and awe that Stiles hadn’t expected. In the movies there were crowds cheering. In the comic books not everyone had appreciated the efforts Peter Parker or the X-Men put into saving people. But it was nothing compared to the alienated feeling Stiles felt as he walked out of the bank amid a frightened crowd.

 

It only reaffirmed to him why Batman was his favorite comic book hero. Neither of them were in it for anything but to make a difference. Stiles finally had the power to do right in the world and he didn’t mind if no one loved him for it. He wasn’t the same kind of hero that Scott was. He wasn’t meant to inspire others with pure morals and a kind heart.

 

Stiles was cunning and determined. He could be cruel and selfish when he needed to be. He could make tough choices. Choices that could have saved lives back in Beacon Hills but that weren’t made because the Pack couldn’t stomach them.

 

Stiles wasn’t in Beacon Hills.

 

And he could stomach whatever he had to.

 

*

 

It was after being pursued by the police after his third outing that he finally got a real name. Up until that point the media had been calling him the L.A. Vigilante but no one – least of all Stiles – was satisfied by it. Not when Stiles wasn’t wielding a gun or trying to contact the press to justify his actions like standard outlaw seekers of justice.

 

It was a witness to his blizzard at the airport that brought around the name. One of the kids there had said it was like magic. Their mother had added that it was just like seeing a show in Vegas.

 

From then on the world knew him as The Magician.

 

It wasn’t The Amazing Spark like he’d been hoping for. But it was probably for the best since Deaton would have figured out who was behind the mask in two seconds flat if they had. Hell even _Scott_ would have gotten the reference. As names went it wasn’t terrible. A little contrived but ultimately something he could use to his advantage. If his future foes saw him as something otherworldly than they’d be even more wary of him.

 

Even if it did mean he had to embroider a million M’s onto his suits.

 

Branding was important after all.

 

*

 

His latest exploit was on the news on his father’s television when Stiles finally came back to Beacon Hills. Back home. Stiles hadn’t made it quite in time for Christmas but a surprise trip for New Year’s would have to do. The welcome home he got certainly pointed to the idea that they didn’t mind the lack of notice.

 

“Son?”

 

Stiles smirked at the mix of joy and guilt etched on his father’s face. A face that was being stuffed with some greasy looking pizza. “That doesn’t look like tofu.”

 

The Sheriff tossed the pizza back into the box and lunged across the living room to drag Stiles into a tight embrace. Stiles sank into the hug and did his best to ignore the grumbled, “If you really want me to stick to Tofu Tuesdays than you have to come home and enforce it more often.”

 

“Sure thing, pops. Just fork over the cash to pay for all that gas and I’ll come home whenever you want.”

 

“Would if I could, kid.”

 

A slight pressure on his head had Stiles cringing away. He wiped at the spot, imagining the saliva freshly wet on his shorn hair. “Gross, Dad. We Stilinski’s are tough, manly men remember? Which means no kisses.”

 

A new voice broke into their father-son moment. “Is that why you never ask me to make out anymore?”

 

Stiles peered around his father to see Scott standing in the doorway to the living room. Ever the puppy Scott couldn’t contain his excitement. His mouth looked as crooked as his jaw with the effort he was putting into not smiling. Stiles smothered his immediate feeling of guilt in favor of walking towards Scott with arm wide open and lips puckered.

 

“Aww. You want some welcome home kisses, buddy?”

 

“Shut up,” Scott groaned as he pushed Stiles head to the side to avoid the pair of wet, smacking lips Stiles kept trying to plant on him. As had happened since they were kids they ended up a pile of flailing limbs and laughter on the floor.

 

Melissa chuckled behind her wine glass from her spot on the couch. “Oh yes these are certainly the mature actions of college men.”

 

The Sheriff scoffed as he settled back into his recliner. “Don’t give them too much credit. They haven’t graduated yet.”

 

Scott gave Stiles epic puppy eyes. Epic ones. “Do you see what you’ve left me to deal with all on my own?”

 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

“Good timing, too, son. Have you seen the news?” The Sheriff flicked from the New Year’s Eve coverage to the blurred cell phone videos on CNN. For a warehouse in the center of an impenetrable emerald colored shield it seemed like the witnesses were going out of their way to get poor shots of it. “I always new Los Angeles was a weird place but that is a new level of crazy.”

 

Stiles shared a look with Scott and Melissa before changing the topic. The Sheriff was the only one still not in the know about the supernatural and it would stay that way if Stiles had anything to say about it. But the McCalls knew better about what the news was showing… even if they didn’t know about Stiles’ involvement in it. That didn’t stop Scott from bringing it up later though.

 

“Derek’s worried,” Scott confessed after dragging Stiles into the kitchen under the pretense of getting more champagne. “He wants someone in the Pack to go back with you to L.A. and keep an eye on things.”

 

Stiles stamped down on his fear of being discovered so early. The last thing he needed was Scott thinking he had something to hide. “Because I’m the type to get targeted by some weirdo vigilante?”

 

Scott sighed at the fresh reminder of how stubborn his best friend could be. “No but apparently this isn’t the first time someone’s gone rogue about the unspoken rule that the supernatural isn’t for the public, you know?”

 

“And this has to do with me how?”

 

“Because Derek says that the last time this sort of thing happened a whole shit load of creatures came down on the person going public,” Scott exclaimed. “He doesn’t want you caught in any potential crossfire. Just being in the city is going to be dangerous enough with what’s coming for that guy.”

 

Stiles filed that away for later. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected some negative reaction from the supernatural community. Armageddon was a bit much though.

 

“And just who would Derek be sending to hold my hand?” Stiles asked. “Last time I checked everyone was at school full time.”

 

Scott avoided his eyes. “Derek doesn’t go to school.”

 

Stiles froze. “Derek? Derek wants to babysit the human?”

 

“It wouldn’t be babysitting,” Scott argued meekly. “It would be… more of like… a… bodyguard thing? I guess.”

 

The mental fantasy of Derek playing the Kevin Costner to his Whitney Houston had Stiles’ brain short-circuiting for a minute. At least he thought it was only a minute. It was his father and Melissa loudly counting down the seconds to the ball drop with the rest of Times Square that drew him out of his daydreaming.

 

Scott smirked knowingly at him. “Yeah you’re clearly going to hate this.”

 

“You have no idea,” Stiles said before he slung an arm around his best friends’ shoulder. Together they brought the champagne glasses out and joined their parents in counting down to the New Year.

 

10 seconds later and Scott ran back into the kitchen to wash his mouth out in the sink. Melissa and the Sheriff’s raucous laughter trailed behind him.

 

“What?” Stiles’ indignant voice called to him from the living room. “Did you really want me to kiss my Dad or your Mom instead?”

 

Scott paused in his mouth cleansing long enough to shout back, “You didn’t have to kiss _anyone_ , jerk!”

 

“But it’s tradition!”

 

“Tongue is _not_ part of the tradition!”

 


End file.
